


Cupid's Kiss

by Laura_Mayfair



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: F/M, Humor, Mind/Mood Altering Substances, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-23
Updated: 2013-10-06
Packaged: 2017-12-27 09:23:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/977129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laura_Mayfair/pseuds/Laura_Mayfair
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Essentially AU, large liberties taken with canon. A sleepless Tom Zarek encounters a more-than-a-little-tipsy president one evening and the experience has them both re-thinking their "relationship." Warning: References to alcohol and other substances. Complete.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Merry Wanderer of the Night

**Author's Note:**

> The quotations and chapter titles are all references to William Shakespeare's **_A Midsummer Night's Dream._**

_Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind,  
And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind._

Tom couldn't sleep. One of the generators across the hall was making an ungodly racket and the sound echoed easily through the metallic walls of _Galactica_. He swore, under his breath, when he slipped out of bed as his feet touched the cold floor. He dressed hastily; it was laundry day so his choices were limited. He pulled on a white button down shirt and a pair of black pants. The fabric felt thin from too much wearing and too many washes. _Frak it_. He grabbed a few meaningless baubles from the top of the dresser: someone's faded class ring from before the first Cylon war – but at least the gold was intact-, a rare coin with Athena dressed as Justice on one side and a Pegasus on the other, and a surprisingly pristine cigarette. He slipped the items in his pocket. They were probably enough to earn him a spot in one of Starbuck's card games, but trivial enough to part with.

The corridor was empty, at least he thought it was empty, until something soft bumped against the posterior side of his body. He turned, and was surprised to see the President of the Twelve Colonies standing behind him looking – rather un-presidential. She was leaning against the wall of the ship and holding her shoes haphazardly in her right hand, which explained her soundless steps. Her navy blue skirt and lavender blouse were neat and orderly, and yet – there was something generally askew about her, an unevenness in her movements and her posture that was so uncharacteristic. Her red hair had the tousled look of having had someone's fingers recently running through the copper strands. He wondered if they had been hers or someone else's.

"Madame President," said Tom in greeting. He quirked an eyebrow in her direction.

Laura continued to walk forward; it seemed that the lady had forgotten the basic law of physics, that two objects could not occupy the same space at the same time.

"Mr. Zarek," she slurred. "I seem to have misplaced my rack."

A myriad of completely inappropriate responses tumbled through Tom Zarek's brain. "I will be happy to assist you, Madame President, in locating your rack." Tom readied himself for her witty rejoinder, as was their custom, but the answering jab never came.

Laura stumbled forward and Tom suddenly found his arms full of Laura Roslin. He decided, immediately, that it was not at all an unpleasant predicament. Surprisingly, the usually standoffish Laura was completely unfazed by her utter lack of coordination. She even offered him the kind of smile he'd never expected to see her give him, a lazy curve of her lips and a honeyed sparkle in her eyes that was pure invitation.

Tom slipped an arm around Laura's waist to steady her, half expecting her to swat him away. He certainly didn't expect her to lean against him – and he certainly didn't expect the rogue hand that wandered down his back to his ass in one clumsy gesture. Tom grinned. It wasn't every day that he got groped by the very lovely - but ordinarily very chilly – Laura.

"How much did you have to drink, Laura?" asked Tom, amused, as she rested her head against his shoulder as he led her to her quarters. It was more difficult to walk than he'd expected while Laura draped herself all over him. Ah, but he could gloat over this one for weeks.

"A glass of white wine," she murmured in a smoky voice.

"One glass of wine my ass." He stopped at her door and helped her lean one shoulder against the wall while he continued to support the other half of her too-pliant body. "Where's your key card?"

Laura seemed confused by the question and she stared at him fuzzily for a moment before unbuttoning the first three buttons of her blouse, giggling softly as she struggled with them, and revealing most of her black lace bra along with a very good bit of cleavage as she fumbled around in between her breasts for her key card. She found the card with a happy little squeal and then proceeded to drop it on the floor. Tom snatched it up and hastily opened the door, grabbing her by the wrist and yanking her inside.

Her room was just as tidy as he would have expected. A few books were stacked on her night side table next to a small notepad with notes written in her elegant hand. Her bed was made. There were no clothes or shoes lying about.

"Sit," Tom ordered and motioned to her bed.

Laura flung herself onto the bed with a pert little smile. The action caused her – and all of her assets – to bounce. "I think I'd rather lie down, Tom." With that pronouncement, she leaned back against the pillows of her bed, arranging her body into a provocative pose and skimming her fingertips from the arch of her thigh to the curve of her hip. "Care to join me?"

Tom gently grabbed Laura's shoulders. "Laura, seriously. How much did you drink?" He scrutinized her critically. "Are you dipping into the chamalla again?"

"Noooooo. I told you. I had one glass of wine." Her voice floated like an untethered balloon. She attempted to make the number one with a sign of her fingers but she raised two instead. Her laughter soared giddily throughout the small room.

"Look at me," said Tom. She focused her green eyes on his face. Her pupils were dilated. "Stick out your tongue."

Laura giggled at the request but she complied.

Her tongue was a vivid shade of apple red.

"Well, I'll be damned," said Tom. "Laura, listen to me. Somebody slipped something in your drink. It's an aphrodisiac called Cupid's Kiss or CK. Whom did you have drinks with tonight?"

"Um….Ellen…..and…the Colonel. Don't be ridiculous. Who would drug me?"

Laura pushed her body upwards and moved into a kneeling position. Her hands were suddenly gliding with enticing softness over the surface of Tom's chest. She looped her arms around his neck and teetered forward.

She was going to kiss him. Gods, but he wanted her to.

"Whoa," choked Tom, avoiding her lips but not quite disentangling himself from her embrace.

"Don't you want me, Mr. Zarek? Because I'll let you in on a little secret." She lowered her voice. "You can have me."

"Oh, sweetheart," said Tom warmly, allowing himself to indulge an endearment that he knew she'd never tolerate if she were clear-headed. He removed her hands from his neck and took them in his, "if you were sober and you made an offer like that to me, your clothes would already be off by now." Laura smiled seductively and gave an impatient tug on his hands. "But clearly," he lamented, "you are neither sober nor currently equipped to render true consent so….unfortunately for both of us I have to keep my hands to myself." He pointedly removed his hands from hers, gently grabbed her shoulders and gave her a firm push so that she was seated on the bed.

"Other than wanting to ravish me on the spot, how do you feel otherwise?"

"Mmmmmm, a little dizzy." She offered him another lovely smile. "But I like it."

Tom sat down next to her and carefully re-buttoned her blouse. "I bet you do. It'll wear off soon."

"Someone _drugged_ me?" There was a hint of the Laura Roslin that he knew and….loved? Well, that he _knew_ anyway. A flat coolness edged its way into her voice as well as a dawning comprehension. "I don't feel so good." Her head drooped to the side.

"Easy," said Tom, tipping her head straight. "Just look at me." He swept a hand over her shoulders.

"I'm going to be sick," Laura announced, standing up on wobbly legs. Tom supported her, led her to the head, and proceeded to hold her hair back while she emptied the contents of her stomach, rubbing her back all the while. When she was finished, he opened the faucet and filled a cup with water and handed it to her, waiting while she rinsed her mouth.

"You want to lay down?"

She nodded. Tom eased her over to the bed, which she flopped onto in one ungraceful but admittedly adorable motion. There was something oddly endearing about an inebriated Laura Roslin. Somehow, only the upper half of her body made it onto the soft mattress. Tom leaned over and placed his hands on her legs, legs that he'd admired at least a thousand times during those long debates with Baltar. With a half-smile, he placed them onto the bed and covered her with a blanket. Laura closed her eyes.

"You're going to wake up with one hell of a headache," he mused. He slunk down onto the chair across from the bed with a sigh. "And I'm going to have one frakin' back ache." He decided not to think about the other parts of his body that were going to be in distress.

* * *

Ellen slid a foot against her husband's leg under the table as she sat across from Saul in the dimly lit bar.

"What's with you tonight?" he complained, withdrawing further back into his chair.

"Oh, Saul, you are so unromantic." She dropped her voice into a liquid caress. "Aren't you feeling even a little bit amorous?"

"It's hard to feel much of anything besides bored out of my mind with Roslin talking business half the night; that woman never stops." Saul drained the last few sips of his wine. "She sure left in a hurry though."

Ellen picked up Laura's glass and peered at the bottom.   There was a fine, white powdery residue intermingled with the last remnants of the wine.   Clamping her hand over her mouth, she stared at Saul, eyes wide. She released her hand from her mouth and spoke. "Oh my gods, Saul."

"What the frak is wrong with you, woman?"

"I spiked her drink."

"What?"

"With CK. It's a harmless little sex enhancer; it lowers inhibitions." Her voice took on a reflective and almost breezily unapologetic tone. She shrugged. "I guess I must have mixed up the glasses. It was meant for you."

"I don't need any kind of _enhancer_ , thank you very much. And where in seven hells did you get something like that?"

"Oh, come off it, Saul - the same place you get your favorite Aerilon ale – the black market."

"Shhhhh," warned Saul, looking around and lowering his voice.

Ellen rolled her eyes. "What should we do?"

Saul crossed his arms over his chest. "Do? We're not going to _do_ anything. She'll probably just go and sleep it off," he said gruffly. "I certainly don't want to be airlocked for drugging the president."

"What if she doesn't just sleep it off?"

"Oh, come on Ellen. The lady has ice water in her veins. She's not just going to go pick someone up."

"She might."

" _You_ did it; _you_ figure out a solution."

"This is exactly why our marriage is such a mess, Saul. You are completely unsupportive."

"You slipped Roslin a mickey and I'm supposed to be supportive?"

Ellen stood up abruptly, crumpling her napkin and leaving it on the table. "I'll make up some excuse and go check on her."

Saul grabbed her arm in alarm. "You can't tell her you slipped something in her drink."

"Obviously not." Ellen shook his hand off. "I'll handle it."

The colonel watched his wife hurry out of the lounge. "That's what I'm afraid of," he mumbled.

* * *

Ellen knocked firmly on Laura's door, "Madame President…Laura?" She waited. Nothing. She knocked again. This time she heard the distinct shuffling of feet.

A disheveled Tom Zarek opened the president's door. Surprised, Ellen Tigh took in a quick puff of air when she saw him, taking in his mussed hair and rumpled clothes.

"Hello, Ellen. What can I help you with?"

Ellen attempted to peer past him into the small quarters while Tom leaned lazily against the door frame. He seemed much too comfortable.   This was not a good sign at all. "Mr. Zarek, are you fraking the president?"

Tom chuckled. "Oh, Ellen, you _are_ blunt. It's actually refreshing with all of the double talk that goes on around here."

"You didn't answer my question."

"If it's all the same to you, I'd rather not discuss my sex life."

"Where is she?  I need to see her immediately," said Ellen.

"Well, that's going to be a little bit difficult," he said. "She's indisposed." Ellen pushed past him and stepped into the small room. "Hurry up, Laura, and put your clothes on," Tom called jokingly as he shut the door.

Ellen spun around to find Laura, fully dressed, and dozing peacefully.

"For gods sake, Ellen, no – I'm not sleeping with the president. Somebody slipped a pretty good dose of CK into Madame President's drink tonight. Interesting thing is, she was having drinks with you and the colonel. Care to explain?" He stepped toward her accusingly.

Ellen stood her ground. "It was an accident. It was intended for Saul."

Tom smirked. "I'm sure he would have appreciated your efforts."

"Not amusing. Does she know what happened?"

"No. I did explain that I suspected somebody slipped her something - but given her behavior tonight, I'm not sure what she'll remember in the morning.  How much did you put in the wine?  She was completely toasted."

"Well, it was supposed to be for Saul.  Two vials."

_"Two vials?"_

"He has a high tolerance.  It's not dangerous; it's not like she can overdose on it it.  It'll just make her -- "

"--I know what it does, Ellen."

 "Oh, Tom...Maybe you could cover for me?" Ellen smiled sweetly and ran her fingertips across his jawline. "Convince her that she just got a little tipsy?"

"It's going to cost you." Tom crossed his arms over his chest.

Ellen glanced over at Laura sleeping on the bed. "With her in the room? Kinky." She grinned.

"Nothing as sordid as all that. Simply remember Baltar when you vote in the election.  And I'm not promising anything."

Ellen eyed Tom suspiciously. "What are you really after, Tom?"

Tom opened the door for Ellen and ushered her out. "Nothing. I'm just being a good citizen."

"You're not going to –"

"Ellen, if I'd wanted to take advantage of Laura, I had ample opportunity. The CK made her sick; I'm just keeping an eye on her."

"Wait a minute. Are you _in love_ with her?"

His answer was too quick. "Hardly. I just like to keep my eye on the opposition. Goodnight, Ellen." He gave her a gentle push and shut the door. But as he glanced warily at Laura's sleeping face, so serene and quiet in the dim room, and framed by endless waves of red hair – he wasn't so sure.

In fact, Tom realized with a sinking heart, he might be in a lot more trouble here than the Tighs.


	2. Where the Bolt of Cupid Fell

_Cupid is a knavish lad,_

_Thus to make poor females mad._

Tom Zarek waited.

He was tired but he couldn't sleep. He was hungry but he knew that even one small bite would stick in his throat. He wanted to get up and leave Laura's quarters but he couldn't do that either. It was as if the woman had trapped him into a state of complete inevitability and she was the only destination. He settled on simply trying to sleep - but that mostly turned into watching _her_ sleep, knowing that soon enough she would wake up, and those green eyes would fixate on him once more with predatory animosity. He couldn't exactly fault her for it, given their antagonistic history. A night of chance misadventure wasn't going to change that. He had always been certain that he didn't like her much. Well, he didn't.

Or at least, he didn't like her politics. But the woman….

It was exactly this train of thought that was making his head hurt and he hadn't even had a drink tonight.

Nighttime was slowly fading into the first tenuous hours of morning when Laura finally stirred, rolling over a couple of times, and finally blinking her eyes. She looked up blearily at the ceiling and then turned her head in his direction. He could tell the very instant her vision came into focus, when the drowsy haze of half-sleep shifted into displeased awareness – of him.

"Mr. Zarek." Her voice was hoarse as she looked at him with that frost-tipped gaze.

Tom leaned forward in his chair, slightly, and acknowledged her. His smile was effortless.

"Madame President."

Laura skipped the pleasantries. "What are you doing in my room?"

"Do you remember anything from last night?"

Laura sat up slowly and Tom watched her put a hand to her forehead. There was pain in her expression.

"Mr. Zarek, my head is throbbing and my patience level is thin - so please – do me the courtesy of not answering a question with a question. What the hell are you doing here?"

"I'll give you the short version," Tom offered cheerfully, "You bumped into me in the hall last night after having some drinks with the Tighs. You were tipsy and I, wanting to ensure your safety, escorted you to your room."

"That doesn't explain what you're _still_ doing here," Laura pointed out. Even Tom couldn't argue with that logic. Truly, he'd rather not think about the reasons that he'd lingered.

Laura peered closely at him, trying to frame the fragmented pieces of her jumbled memory into one complete picture. She hastily pushed the blanket off of her body and sat up. Too fast. She emitted an involuntary groan.

"You should take it slowly," cautioned Tom. "I'm going to get you some water and some pain reliever." Tom rose, went into the head, and returned with a bottle of red and blue pills and a cup of water.

When he returned, Laura was sitting at the edge of the bed, head in her hands. She had attempted to fix her rumpled blouse and skirt, to smooth her tousled hair, but even with her best efforts, she still looked like someone who had spent the evening sleeping in her clothes. She didn't look hung-over; she merely looked tired. But even disheveled, she was still piercingly lovely. Or at least she had been before she'd opened her eyes and started glaring shards of ice in his direction. Tom handed her the water and the aspirin and watched her slowly take them.

Laura sat quietly for a few moments, collecting her thoughts and constructing details from the prior evening. Tom was content to simply watch her, wanting to give her ample room to clear her head.

"Last night…you brought me to my room," Laura began uncertainly. She paused as images and sensations from the previous night filled her mind, haltingly, like something just barely out of reach. "I held onto you," she remembered with surprise as she swallowed a second sip of water.

Tom nodded and murmured an affirmation.

"I threw up and you held my hair," she added, puzzled.

"Yes," said Tom quietly. He felt a quick stab of hope. He wasn't sure for what.

Her voice was barely audible. "You helped me get into bed." She remembered something else, something involving her buttons. An incomplete memory of him holding both of her hands in his flashed and faded. Recollection was coming too fast; Laura couldn't grasp all of it and alarm set in swiftly. "Wait a minute," she murmured. Laura rounded on him suddenly, the momentary softness replaced by something brittle and accusatory. She was on her feet within seconds. "Was this some kind of publicity stunt?"

"A publicity stunt?" laughed Tom. The small shard of hope cracked down the middle and split in two.

"Oh, please. Like you wouldn't. Get me drunk and make it look like we. Like we – "

"Fraked?"

"Exactly!" She threw up her hands.

"Absolutely not. That would be a cheap exploit. Give me a little credit. At the very least, I'm a lot more creative than that. I certainly have more finesse."

"Oh, yes, Mr. Zarek – let's not forget how _clever_ you are. Lending your support to Gaius Baltar and that pile of mud down there. I'm sure you'll be waiting in the wings to pick up the slack when he fails." She laughed. "Maybe you'll even give him a little push."

"This coming from the woman who plays Adama like he's a fiddle. It's very convenient having an army at your disposal, isn't it? I didn't touch you last night except to help you."

She shook her head at him and pointed a shaky finger. "Well, I'm remembering some things that just don't make any sense."

"All right. Let's hear it. Illuminate me, Madame President," challenged Tom.

"It's obvious. You wanted to ruin my credibility so you slipped something in my drink and made sure the media saw us entering my quarters. And gods only know what else you did."

Of course that's what Laura would think. To her, he was – and always would be – a criminal and an extremist with no principles. And no honor.

"Did you – did we - _sleep_ together?" Her voice was like the sharp crack of a tree branch snapping in a storm.

"No," said Tom angrily as he headed toward the door, oddly hurt by the obvious implication that she found the idea so distasteful. "My balls are still intact. Sleeping with you, they're liable to have frozen off." He grabbed the handle of the door.

"We are not through here, _Mr. Zarek_ ," said Laura fiercely as she stomped toward him like a vengeful Fury; anger was quickly dulling the pain in her aching head. She flung his name out like it was a vile thing.

"On the contrary, Madame President, we are quite through." Tom opened up the door with a loud and satisfying crack. Laura was only two steps behind him and she grabbed his arm, pulling him to face her.

"Your balls aren't the only thing that are going to be missing when I'm through with you," she promised heatedly. Her face was so close. He watched the staccato rise and fall of her chest as she breathed. His own breathing matched hers, shallow and quick.

Tom's blue eyes rested on hers for a brief moment, hoping to find something in their grey-green depths other than enmity. But there wasn't. With a resigned shake of his shoulders, he quickly shrugged her off and retreated down the corridor before he did something _really_ stupid.

Like pulling her into his arms and kissing her until they were both delirious from it. Only he was pretty sure that he already was.

Laura spent the rest of her morning nursing her headache and trying to recall the details of the night before. The strange thing was, the more she remembered, the less any of it made any sense. She recalled drinks with Saul and Ellen but she had only consumed one glass of wine. She had excused herself relatively early because she'd felt lightheaded, although she had merely told the Tighs that she was tired. She didn't need anyone on the fleet thinking that she was fragile, certainly not after the lingering rumors of her previous illness.

She remembered bumping into Tom in the hallway and she kept trying to conjure images of him pressing his advantage over her. But she was remembering an entirely different scenario. _She_ had been coming onto _him_.

 _Ridiculous._ She made it a point never to drink more than two of anything. And even full of drinks, she couldn't imagine any conceivable circumstance in which she'd behave suggestively toward…. _Tom Zarek_. He wasn't bad looking. In fact, she had to admit that he had nice eyes. Sea-blue and flecked with touches of gray. On a good day, he could even be quite charming. Occasionally, she even enjoyed his quick wit and dry sense of humor. But it was the agenda that lurked under the charismatic smiles and easy manner that one had to watch out for. Zarek always had an angle. His own. What was worse, he liked to imagine that it was the public good that was his singular and noble crusade, but in reality Zarek waved his own banner. He was an opportunist, a political maneuverer, and a threat. He was her adversary.

He was dangerous.

Laura would get to the bottom of this. The colonel would be a difficult nut to crack, and with his reputation, he'd probably been drunker than she was. That left Ellen. Laura picked up her phone and dialed Tory.

"Good morning, Madame President."

"Good morning. I need to see Ellen Tigh in my office. As soon as possible."

* * *

The two women sat directly across from one another, Laura at her desk and Ellen in the chair opposite her. A shower and some clean clothes had done a lot for Laura's outlook. Her headache was gone and she was eager to clear up the misty events of the night before. She clasped a sharpened pencil loosely between the fingers of both hands. She felt much calmer than she had earlier.

Ellen, on the other hand, was livid. That rat Zarek had obviously spilled the beans about the CK, thereby prompting this little meeting. Well, if she was going down, Ellen would take someone with her.

"It really was an accident, Laura," she blurted impulsively. "You know how stressful marriage can be. Well, you don't know personally. Or have you been married?"

Laura quickly dismissed the question. "I've never been married." She narrowed her eyes. "But what, exactly, was an accident?"

"Oh, you mean Mr. Zarek didn't tell you?"

Laura dropped the pencil down on her desk and scrutinized Ellen.

 _Frak._ "About the aphrodisiac that I slipped into your drink by mistake. I swear it was meant for Saul. I mixed up the glasses. As soon as I realized it, I went after you but Tom was in your room with you and you seemed fine. You were sleeping so –"

"So you left me alone with Tom Zarek with some _drug_ pumping through my veins?"

"Oh, it's really harmless. It ramps up libido and lowers inhibitions. It enhances the sensations when – "

"Ellen!"

"You seemed perfectly safe. Did something happen?" If that idiot Zarek had copped a presidential feel, she was really going to be in trouble.

"Nothing happened. Absolutely nothing. I woke up in my clothes with Zarek sitting in a chair across from me and very fuzzy memories." Her voice was clipped. "I take it you didn't intend on telling me."

"Oh well…I figured Zarek would explain things. He seemed….very devoted. Not in an inappropriate way. If you want my opinion – "

"Not particularly."

Ellen prattled on obliviously. "He has a crush on you."

A crush? Like in grade school? Tom Zarek. Notorious terrorist and political insurgent?

Laura rolled the pencil until it was in front of Ellen and grabbed a piece of paper from her drawer. "I want the name of the drug and the name of your supplier."

"Are you going to press charges?"

Laura paused as if she were seriously considering it. It was a long pause. "No. But I'm making sure that this drug is out of circulation. I don't want any more _mistakes_."

Ellen scribbled hastily on the paper. "I'm so, so sorry –"

Laura cut her off. "And you are never, ever to mention this again. To anyone."

"Of course not."

Laura nodded toward the exit. "You can go. Thank you."

Ellen rose and began to make her way out. She stopped and turned before leaving. "You know, Laura, it _is_ the end of the world. Might as well make the most of it. I mean – I know you're the president but you're also a woman." Ellen gave her a suggestive smile. "I know I sure as hell would."

* * *

A week later Laura was hastily clearing her things out of her office. It was finished. Baltar had won the election. Their course was set for New Caprica and she was simply Laura Roslin again. It had been such a busy and stressful week that she had given very little further thought to the Zarek problem.

But the problem had reasserted itself - literally. As Laura was clearing out the drawer of a file cabinet, he was making a beeline for her desk, with Tory close on his heels.

"You don't have an appointment," her aide was saying.

"It's fine, Tory. I find my schedule suddenly very clear – as recent events would have it." Laura shooed the brunette away with a look. "I'll take care of Mr. Zarek." Tom had a feeling that Laura's version of taking care of him meant tossing him out the nearest airlock - and he said so.

"You gonna airlock me?"

"Not today but let's not rule it out. Baltar won. It's over. If you've come to gloat, let's hurry up and hear it so that I can finish clearing out my office."

"I haven't come to gloat, Laura. I have a couple of forms that needed to be signed –"

"You could have just left those with Tory," she said coldly. "If that's all –"

"It's not all. I just wanted to set the record straight about the night that you woke up with me in your quarters. Nothing happened between us. I put you to bed. That was all."

"I know. I remember. Events are still a little fuzzy but I remember most of them. I even had a little chat with Ellen Tigh about her little error with the CK. While I stand behind everything I said that morning to you about your politics, I was incorrect in believing that you were executing a publicity stunt, or that you had made inappropriate gestures toward me."

"That's a left-handed apology," scoffed Tom.

"Actually, that wasn't an apology at all, Mr. Zarek. Merely an explanation."

"Well, the least you could do is apologize for grabbing my ass. Aphrodisiac or no, if the shoe were on the other foot – I'd never hear the end of it."

"I didn't – "

Tom grinned like the cat who had swallowed the canary. "You definitely did."

"I'm so glad you're so very amused. Out. Now." Laura tossed her head dismissively toward the exit and began gathering up a stack of papers.

Tom placed both of his hands on hers. "Have dinner with me."

The fluttering noise of the papers in her hands ceased as Laura froze. She looked at him. "What?"

"Dinner," Tom smiled. "You and me. We'll eat food. You'll probably glare at me, much like you're doing this very second." He paused. "I like the way you glare at me, Madame President."

Laura flinched and shook him off. "Let me think about it."  She paused pointedly.  "No."

If her rejection phased him, he didn't show it. He merely shrugged at her and regarded her warmly with a winning smile.

"I'm going to ask you again," he promised, before he turned around.

"Stalker," she tossed back at him before he was completely out of earshot.

Tom smiled to himself.

And, after he was completely gone, Laura's rebel lips formed into their own unwilling smile.


	3. Bright Things

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quotations and chapter titles are taken from _A Midsummer Night's Dream._ Thank you to lanalucy for the beta.

_Lord, what fools these mortals be!  
_

 

**Part 3:  Bright Things**

 

The wind picked up as Baltar addressed the restless crowd assembled on the New Caprica settlement.  People had already started on their first round of drinks and they only half-listened, more excited about the celebration than anything the President had to say.  Multi-colored paper lanterns hung from the scaffolding to be lit later in the evening.  Energetic children shrieked happily as they played tag at the far edges of the crowd, waving streamers and signs.  Baltar basked shamelessly in the borrowed glory of the festivities that he had not taken part in planning.  The majority of his decision-making process had, in fact, been dedicated to the painstaking selection of his wardrobe, rather than to any momentous decisions about the big event itself or, even more importantly, to the future plans for New Caprica.

“Let this day be remembered as the day we broke ground for our new tomorrow!”  Baltar smiled winningly as he pushed the shovel into the pliant sand.  As usual, his words were all glamor and no substance but at least he was quick about it.  The crowd cheered half-heartedly and began to disperse into smaller groups to pursue far more desirable activities than listening to politicians’ speeches.

Laura gave her head a toss to push stray strands of breeze-blown auburn hair from her face.  The crowd was shoulder to shoulder and she had almost no room at all to maneuver.  An arm jostled her and she angled her body to allow for more space when her eyes settled on the offender’s dark hair and blue eyes.  Tom greeted her with an amused smile that he could not suppress and her answering glower was immediate and instinctual.  Tom’s prediction about her glaring had been true enough; she’d definitely perfected that over the last few months, and today was no exception.  He offered her his arm but she demurred with a casual but definitive shake of her shoulders and one quick pinprick of a glance, sharp and edgy.

The woman behind Laura pushed her forward with the swaying swell of the crowd and the former president found herself in closer proximity to Tom so that her mouth hovered precariously near his left ear.  She decided not to waste the unexpected opportunity to bait her adversary.

“Rumor has it he’s going to appoint you vice president.  Just one step closer, Mr. Zarek.  So close, I bet, that you can almost _feel_ it,” she whispered hypnotically as she over-articulated each word.  Her tone was suffused with perfumed venom, intoxicatingly sweet -- but otherwise tipped with malice.  And there was something else that lingered beneath those alluringly inflected words.  It was the something else that had Zarek’s full and undivided attention.  He was reasonably certain that she enjoyed their perpetual game of cat-and-mouse as much as he did.  But the real question of the day was whether or not she was as eager as he was to reach an endgame.

How long, after all, could they keep this up?

Undaunted, Tom reached for her arm to turn her body just enough to allow him to whisper back but Laura had already been carried away by the current of the crowd.  No matter.  Her red hair was streaked with shades of gold and amber in the fading afternoon light, glowing like a lighthouse beacon in rough waters.

And he would steer the course and follow it.

He didn’t see her again until the sun had finally faded, until the few paper lanterns that had survived the earlier tantrum of the afternoon winds had been lit.  The night was clear and cool, the winds quieter, and Tom only half-listened as he made idle conversation with the other members of New Caprica.  He was too focused on seeking out that arresting shock of red hair, too intent on finding those vibrant green eyes that were as beautiful as a song, to pay very close attention to anything else.

It was, ironically, Laura who found _him_.

Tom sat by the fire pit, alone, turning a marshmallow on a stick over the roaring flames as Laura slipped in soundlessly beside him.  He chuckled approvingly when he saw her, and she smiled.  This is what their baffling interactions had consisted of for the last couple of months, an endless stream of barbed exchanges that were followed, on both sides, by guardedly soft looks and surreptitious glances.

“I will have you know, Mr. Zarek,” she began discreetly, as if she were telling him a great secret, “that I’m only here for your marshmallow.  It appears, as fate would have it, that you are in possession of the very last one.”

Tom looked at her and made a show of considering this information as he brought the stick out of the fire and gently blew out the flames, savoring the way her eyes rested on his rounded lips.  He allowed his own gaze to linger on Laura’s lips, performing with his eyes what he really wished he could be doing with his mouth instead.  His eyes met hers as he gave the stick one last playful twirl and handed it wordlessly to her.

“Thank you, Tom.”

She rarely used his first name but gods did it do things to him when she did.  And he suspected that she knew it, too.  Tom watched her through the half-light of the waning fire as she nibbled delicately on the marshmallow while the wind picked up again.   Laura huddled into herself with an involuntary shiver against the brisk air.  The temperature was dropping with the darkening sky and they both felt it.  In one spontaneously chivalrous gesture, Tom removed his black leather jacket and draped it over her shoulders.  He wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d shaken it off but he felt a trill of pleasure coursing dangerously through the lower half of his body when she didn’t.  He liked the way she looked wearing his jacket.

“You know,” Tom said softly as he leaned his mouth toward her ear, “we’ve got a roaring fire.  We’ve even got the very last marshmallow -- which has to be some sort of sign.  We have you, sitting here looking utterly scrumptious – even more so than said marshmallow.”  He grinned at her.  “You do realize that we’re teetering treacherously close to a date here.  By association, anyway, if not by outright design.”  The wind stirred her hair and a few strands brushed against his lips while he spoke to her.  It was the closest that he’d been to her since the night she’d drunk Ellen’s CK cocktail and he was enjoying every moment of her nearness.

Laura was enjoying his nearness, too, although she’d never admit it.  His jacket made her feel cozy and comfortable, the way it covered her shoulders, although his arms would have felt even better.  Most of the warmth that she felt came directly from him rather than from the worn leather, and she found herself leaning toward him, just a fraction more.  Surely he wouldn’t notice.  And at this stage in the game she wasn’t sure if she cared anyway, even if he did.

“I hardly think, Mr. Zarek, that our interaction could be classified as an actual date, for there has been no stated intention, implied or otherwise, of a courtship.”  Their faces were turned toward one another, so close that Laura could feel Tom’s breath against her hair as he exhaled.

“Well,” said Tom thoughtfully as he slipped an arm around her, a gentle wing-tip of a touch, “I would argue that intention was established when I first asked you to go out with me a couple of months ago.”

“Yes,” interrupted Laura, “but I refused.”  She gave him that frigid Roslin glare that he was beginning to adore profusely.  Her eyes were even more captivating tonight without her glasses, although he did enjoy that sexy-schoolteacher look that she had going on when she wore them.  “Actually, I refused on several occasions,” she reminded him primly.

“But you accepted tonight by implication when you plunked down next to me and proceeded to devour my marshmallow.”  He made it sound so dirty.

“I never plunk, Mr. Zarek,” said Laura with widened eyes, clearly affronted.

“It was, admittedly, the most graceful plunk I’ve ever seen.  But now you’re just being evasive.  I believe that I have clearly established that a date is most definitely in progress.”

“That’s a subjective assessment.  Our interaction, thus far, has been completely…platonic.”  She gave her shoulders a small meaningful shrug and looked up at the sky for a brief moment before returning her gaze to his face.  There was an expression of challenge in her eyes; she dared him with a look.   _Try me_.

Tom had never been a man to walk away when the gauntlet had been thrown down.  And there was no way in hell he’d step away from such a loaded invitation.  He leaned toward her, searching her face with his eyes, prolonging the moment.  The anticipation was a delicious kind of aching and he’d wanted to do this for such a long time.  He’d dreamed about it while lying awake in his rack, rigid with wanting her, wondering what her body would feel like pressed up against him if he ever got the chance to kiss her.

Wondering what she’d taste like.

He cupped her face, rubbed her cheek with the pad of his thumb.  He lowered his mouth to meet hers and she parted her lips, angling her head to make her own mouth more accessible to him.

She tasted like toasted marshmallow, like flame.  She tasted like violets in midsummer and like springtime snows, like sweetness and tartness, like heat and cold. She hummed as he drew back, her eyes still closed, her face rosy with firelight.  The corners of her mouth tilted upward in a half-smile.  She opened her eyes and looked at him.  In an instant, he leaned toward her again and his mouth was on hers, demanding and hard.  He felt her hand press against his chest.  For one agonizing second, he believed that she was going to push him away--but she fisted his shirt instead and tugged him closer.  A sharp whistle and a raucous laugh broke the pair apart.  There was a telling suction sound when lips that had been getting very well acquainted separated prematurely.

“Will you two just get a frakkin’ room?” asked Colonel Tigh with disgust as he walked by with Ellen on his arm.  His wife gave Laura a sly and knowing smile and she winked at Tom as they breezed past, heading away from the festivities for their own tent.

“The colonel might have the right idea.  You want to take this discussion to a private forum?” murmured Tom, mouth near her earlobe.

“That’s the best you can do?  That’s your big pickup line?  I should say no simply on principle.”

“I guess I should have gone for option number two then,” said Tom with mock thoughtfulness.

She gave him her best teacher stare.  Tom found it unbearably cute.  “Dare I ask?” said Laura.

He looked at her head-on and deadpanned, “Would you like to see the inside of my tent?”

“And you were off to such a promising start,” lamented Laura with a forlorn sigh as she patted and then rubbed his arm.

“Well, do you?” he pressed, giving her a playful nudge with his shoulder.  He lowered his mouth a little and planted a quick kiss against her neck, offering her one of those disarming smiles of his.  She was usually immune to them – well, mostly.

But not tonight.

Laura’s voice was warm. “I’m sure that the inside of your tent will prove very _illuminating_.  But let me go freshen up.  I’ll meet you there in a few minutes.”

She enjoyed the expression of surprise on his face, the way it made the smug smile disappear.  Best to keep Mr. Tom Zarek on his toes.

Laura stood up, turning back just once to offer him her own triumphant little smile before she left him.  “It’s not flattering to look too surprised, Tom.”

 

* * *

 

Moving hurriedly through the thinning crowd, Laura reached her tent quickly.

She removed her red dress and chose a burgundy blouse and a pair of black slacks to wear instead, hoping to look a little less conspicuous--although now that Ellen Tigh had observed her and Tom in a lip-lock, it wouldn’t be long before the entire fleet heard about it.  Her undergarment selection was despairingly limited.  She had one decent pair of panties left, creamy silk with a matching lacy bra that she’d set aside for “special occasions.”

This was the first “special occasion” that she’d indulged in since Richard, she realized with a derisive laugh.  She hurriedly did the math.  It had been almost two years.   _Well, that was a slump._  Maybe she shouldn’t have forestalled Zarek for so long.  Maybe she should have taken the proverbial plunge a long time ago.   If she wanted to be really honest with herself, she’d acknowledge that she’d been considering it for quite some time, even on those days she’d wanted to wring his neck, which occurred more often than not.  As she ran a brush through her hair, she wondered if she were developing a habitual inclination for troublesome relationships.  She promptly reminded herself, with steely practicality, that this wasn’t a relationship.  This was _frakking_.  Pure and simple.

She hoped that he wound up being good in bed.  If this encounter fizzled, it was going to be one hell of a disappointment for both of them after all of those months of verbal foreplay, after the heated looks and the charged discussions and the argumentative flirting.

Laura checked her reflection in the mirror one more time, flushed cheeks and bright eyes.  She looked like a woman who’d been kissed.  

If she were really honest with herself, she’d admit that she wanted her and Zarek to be good together --  for more reasons than simply wanting the easy release of a good frak.

Honesty was overrated anyway.

 

* * *

 

Tom sat down on his cot…stood up….sat down….stood up….  He leaned against one of the large wooden tent supports, hoping to look casual and smooth—until he felt a slight give in the wood and quickly moved away.  He wanted the night to be memorable, but bringing the whole tent down on them wasn’t exactly the impression he was going for.  Maybe she wouldn’t even come.  It would be the ultimate display of dominion over him if she didn’t.  Make him think she wanted him and then leave him waiting for her…indefinitely.  He wouldn’t put it past her.  Oddly enough, he wouldn’t even resent her for it.   He’d probably feel a kind of begrudging admiration for such a cold and calculating tactic -- and then, of course, he’d have to retaliate.  It’s what they did; mutual spite was their defining dynamic, wasn’t it?

“Tom?” The elegant, familiar inflection of her voice interrupted his thoughts, carrying over the background noise of the music and the voices outside, and sending an anticipatory tingle whirling through his body.  So she had come after all.  Tom almost didn’t believe it until he saw her outline in the dim light as she approached the entrance to the tent.

He reached for her and pulled her against his body in one frantic motion, kissing her without restraint, sliding his hands around her waist, against her back.  He felt her arms reciprocate, gliding up his chest to entwine and then link around the back of his neck.  The feel of her almost made him dizzy.  Laura Roslin.  In his tent.  With her body pressed up against him and her pretty mouth moaning softly against his lips as he kissed her.

“I think this implied date of yours is quickly turning into a booty call,” she laughed, as he broke the kiss so that he could run his lips along the slope of her neck.

“Call it whatever the frak you want, Laura, but don’t stop touching me.”

She hummed in response and allowed her hands to dip all the way down his back to squeeze his ass, molding his hips against hers while he continued his thorough exploration of her neck.  He kissed down to her collar bone, darting his tongue out to run the tip along the groove there and then licked and kissed his way back up to that sensitive spot about half an inch below her ear.  She gave a quick, reflexive inhalation when he sucked on the skin there, bit her, and then sucked again.  He wondered if he should stop; there’d be a mark on her neck if he kept at it, but the way she was responding to him made him dismiss the notion of stopping as he puckered his lips and gave another firm suckle that elicited a full body shiver from her.

He wished that the tent had a wall, something hard and flat that he could press her up against for better leverage.  He felt her alternatively tense and then relax as he continued his thorough ministrations to that delectable neck of hers.  Her body dipped a little and he tightened his grip on her, essentially holding her up, until he felt her regain her footing.  Tom took advantage of the momentary lull and disengaged his mouth from her soft skin, tugging her toward his cot.  He guided her body into a sitting position and knelt down in front of her as he rested a hand against each of her knees and then trailed a slow path  up her thighs to her hips and then finally to the button at the waistband of her pants.  He undid the button and pulled down the zipper but his eyes never left her face.  She supported her weight with her hands for a moment and lifted up her bottom so that he could pull her pants completely off.

Those legs of hers went on forever and he wanted to get to know every inch of them.  He leaned close and began unbuttoning her blouse, taking his time, watching as the rich burgundy of the fabric was replaced by the ivory of her skin.  Blouse completely unbuttoned, he buried his face in between her breasts, kissing her there as he felt her hands slip through his hair.  Laura placed a hand on either side of his jaw and forced him to look up at her.

“Catch up, Tom.  You’re overdressed for the occasion.”

“Bossy,” he complained.

“Cocky bastard,” she countered.

“I think you’re beginning to like it.”  He pulled his t-shirt up over his head and threw it, not caring where it landed.

“I wouldn’t overestimate your appeal this early in the proceedings, Mr. Zarek.”  She shifted her hips, tilted her breasts up, and opened her legs up a little more -- just barely, almost imperceptibly so.  But enough to have the desired effect.

He was all over her in an instant, smashing his mouth against hers, then gripping her waist and nearly pulling her up off the cot in a direct collision with his body.  Laura placed a restraining hand against his chest and pulled her mouth away.

“Pants.  Now,” she demanded.

“Tease.”

Laura merely smiled.  Her shallow breaths told him that she was just as affected as he was, despite her cool bravado.  Those quick little breaths also had a detrimental counter-effect that made him want to simply grab her and take her, quick and hard, right on the floor of his tent.

She swept her eyes down the length of his body, stopping at the bulge in his pants.  She darted her tongue out and moistened her lips pointedly, before bringing her eyes back up to his face.  With a low growl, Tom unbuttoned his pants and reached for his zipper.

It wouldn’t budge.

He glanced down incredulously, pulled again, and then looked at Laura with a frustrated chuckle.

“Problems?” she smirked.

Tom laughed and Laura decided that she liked the fact that he could find humor in the situation.  Most men would be horrified if they were getting ready to do the deed, only to be foiled by a clothing malfunction.  His boyish smile of disbelief was endearingly sexy.

Laura rose.  “Sit,” she advised as she changed places with him.  “Do you have a pencil?”

“I do…but I’m not so sure I want to let you near my dick with a sharp object in hand,” he admitted affably.

Laura rolled her eyes.  “I’m a professional.  Trust me.”

“Second shelf on your left,” Tom told her.

Laura retrieved the pencil and grabbed a pillow.  She placed the pillow on the floor and knelt down in front of Tom, placing her left hand on his right thigh.

“This scenario would be a hell of a lot more fun if my private parts weren’t being held hostage by a frakkin’ zipper.”

Laura smiled and moved closer to his lap.  “I quite agree.”  She brought the tip of the pencil to Tom’s zipper and rubbed it carefully along the edges.  “Graphite,” she explained, “is a dry lubricant and –“ She repeated the gesture, “ – can be used to loosen a stuck zipper.  Frak.  This would be so much easier if you didn’t have a hard-on.”  She pulled at the zipper again.  After three more attempts, it finally gave and she was able to pull it all the way down.

“I believe that we’ve seen more than enough of these, don’t you think?” said Laura as she tugged at his pants.  He was just as eager to get rid of them and he raised his hips so that she could get them all the way off.  She kissed his stomach as she pulled at his underwear.  Tom got the message and yanked them down, kicking them away as soon as they hit the floor.

“I think that this just might have been worth the extra effort,” mused Laura, wrapping a hand around his cock and giving him a cursory stroke.  He was larger than Richard, definitely above average, and hard as a rock.  She ran an appreciative finger teasingly from the tip all the way up to the base and enjoyed the guttural groan that her action elicited.

She repeated the gesture but this time she used the tip of her tongue instead.  Tom buried his hands in the silky red waves of her hair.  She took him inside her mouth and sucked while her hand worked along the length of the shaft.  It took every ounce of control that he possessed not to gently rock his hips against her, but he didn’t want to risk an action that would cause her discomfort.

“Gods, Laura,” Tom half-groaned, half-laughed, “I’m only human.”

Laura pulled her mouth away.  “At last you admit it.”

“Get up here, Roslin,” said Tom affectionately, grabbing her wrists and pulling her up between his legs.  He slipped his hands around her back and hurriedly undid her bra, slipping it off.  He shifted his body and got up, pushing Laura down on the cot onto her back and yanking her panties down.  They dangled off one ankle as he spread her legs and buried his head between them.  He planted rows and rows of repeated kisses, quick and soft, along the silky flesh.  Laura let out a completely adorable giggle and Tom filed away that interesting piece of information.

The lovely Laura Roslin was ticklish.

What else was she?

Tom licked a slow, moist trail along her inner thighs.  He lapped lazily at her folds back and forth and then side to side, giving his head a little shake that had her hips bucking up off the cot.  He carefully avoided the place where he knew she wanted his tongue the most, just edging around her swollen clit but never quite touching it.

“Tom,” she bit out impatiently.

He impaled her with his tongue as he stretched her open with the tips of his fingers.  She whimpered, a plaintive keening sound that went straight to his cock.  He plunged two fingers inside her and allowed his thumb to brush up against her clit as he pistoned them in and out.  When he felt her quiver and begin to contract, Tom slipped a third finger into her as he took her clit in between his lips and sucked.

Her body trembled when she came, breaths coming in short bursts, and that warm voice of hers floated throughout the tent like a sultry benediction.  He tapered off his touching, slowly eased the potent stimulation of fingers and tongue, lips and mouth.  He moved his body up so that he could kiss her.

She could taste her own pleasure on his lips as he brought his mouth to hers.  They exchanged soft, repeated kisses as she hummed her approval against his mouth.  His cock, still hard, pressed against the parted juncture of her thighs.  She moaned at the contact and shifted until she felt the tip grazing against her entrance.

“Laura.”  Desperation and relief resounded in those two simple syllables as Tom lingered over her name.  He pushed his hips forward and slipped his cock inside her, inch by inch, slow and easy, rocking into her.  She tilted her pelvis until he was fully sheathed.

He began a slow but deep rhythm, pushing in all the way each time.  Laura raised a leg and rotated her hips in counterpoint until they were both delirious.

“Harder, Tom.  I need it harder.”  

Tom quickened his pace and the cot squeaked and thumped underneath them.  He wondered vaguely, for a moment, if the music wafting outside the tent was enough to mask the vivid sounds of what they were doing.  Probably not.  But they were both far too gone to care.  

“Are you going to come for me again, Laura?” he asked with his breath warm against her neck, as he slipped a hand between them and pressed the heel of it against her clit as he frakked her harder, his thrusting becoming more erratic, less controlled.

Her voice was breathy.  “Gods, yes…”  It was more an exclamation than an answer to his question but Tom certainly didn't mind.

He spilled into her just as he felt her shudder and cry out, as her head tipped back loosely against the pillow, as her fingernails scratched and bit across his back.

“So good,” she murmured incoherently as they continued to move together and then slowly stilled.

They were both quiet for a few moments.  Tom shifted, rolled over, and slipped a hand over the curve of her waist, caressing lightly.

“You’d better get over here and spoon with me for a little while,” he teased as he drew her back against his chest.  “Otherwise, I’m going to feel cheap.”  He kissed her throat.

Laura’s sated body was too limp to protest much.  “I don’t think that post-coital cuddling with you is something that I can do in good conscience,” she said softly.  But she made no effort to disentangle herself.  Some remote part of her consciousness cautioned her that she shouldn’t fall asleep, certainly not in Tom Zarek’s arms, certainly not here in his tent where all of this would look different in the light of morning.

“We can’t do this again, Tom,” said Laura as she kissed his jaw and pressed her head into the crook of his shoulder.  She wasn’t nuzzling him; she was merely making herself more comfortable so that she wouldn’t develop a crick in her neck, she assured herself.

“Right,” he agreed with flimsy conviction.  “This was a one-time thing.”

“Exactly,” agreed Laura for emphasis.

This mutual clarity would certainly make things less complicated.  After all, it was perfectly obvious that they weren’t good together.  


End file.
